Prologue~ Shelter

Gentle Mother, font of mercy,

save our sons from war, we pray,

stay the swords and stay the arrows,

let them know a better day.

Gentle Mother, strength of women,

help our daughters through this fray,

soothe the wrath and tame the fury,

teach us all a kinder way.

Sansa didn't know why she'd done it. She didn't know what made her stand up and decide to live. Perhaps it had something to do with the cloak. He had thrown his cloak at her twice now, once to cover her naked body, and once the night before last, to say goodbye. It was then, huddled under the blood stained white cloak that she'd realized she didn't want to say goodbye to him, she didn't want to see him go.

Moments after that she'd rushed down the corridor as fast as her legs could carry her and she called out to him, using his true name for the first time ever.

"Sandor!" she had cried, stretching her arm and hand out to him. He'd turned, hand on the pommel of his sword, and tears still slowly rolling down his blood-covered cheeks. Without thinking, she'd flung herself at him and he'd caught her.

"We have to hurry," he'd said, not asking about her change of heart. And they had. He'd half-carried, half-dragged her through the castle, pushing her behind him whenever he sensed danger ahead of them. He had cut through countless people, and all the while Sansa had buried her face in her hands or in his chest so she would not see, or would not be seen.

They had reached the stables, but they were already ablaze. Most of the horses had escaped, but a few were still tethered. Stranger was waiting for them, outside of the stables, as proud and angry as ever. Sandor had looked back and forth from the burning stables to Sansa, and had growled. She knew she needed a horse, but he was loathe to go in for one. Bracing herself, Sansa rushed in before he could stop her and she quickly began un-tethering the trapped horses. The flames licked at her hands and face and neck, but she didn't stop until she reached the final horse. She took the reigns and ran from the blaze.

"Are you mad, girl? You could have been hurt!" Sandor had bellowed at her, catapulting her atop the horse with his brute strength. He mounted Stranger and the two fled, through the flames, through the battle, through the dying, and through the gates.

That had been two nights ago.

They had yet to stop for any long period for rest, and Sansa was beginning to think that the Hound didn't need sleep. She did though. And the horses did. Her poor mare was beginning to stumble, and had slowed substantially since their first night of riding. Sansa was so tired and weak she'd taken to leaning on the mare's neck for fear of falling from the saddle.

She must have fallen asleep despite the cold and being in the saddle, because the next thing she knew, Sansa was being lifted off of the horse by large, warm hands that wrapped around her waist. She looked down to see Sandor.

"We've stopped," she said softly, stretching with her arms over her head.

"We've come far enough to escape all of the fighting, and all of the stragglers. It is time to rest now, little bird." he answered, gently placing her back on her feet on the ground. She looked around and saw they were in a very secluded wooded area, with no inn in sight.

"But…there's no inn here." she said, confused. Sandor barked a laugh as he tethered the horses and began to unsaddle them.

"No, girl, there's no inn. We need to stay to the forest for a while, just until we've gotten far enough North." he said, carefully rubbing Stranger down and inspecting his hooves and legs. Sansa stood with her hands clasped in front of her waist, watching everything he did.

"What are we going to do for shelter, and food?" she asked, looking up at the maddening sky. "It looks like rain…"

"Can you do this, girl? Tend your mount, I mean? Were you taught that along with your needle-work and tender words?" Sansa blushed, but nodded. "Good. You see to her then, and I'll see to the shelter." he grumbled, stalking off through the forest to gather up large sticks and branches.

Sansa began to rub down her mare, and for the first time she noticed what a lovely horse she was. Her coat was the color of wheat, and she had soft brown eyes that were weary, but beautiful. She gently massaged the swollen joints of the mare's legs and decided she would call her Maiden. If the Hound could travel with one of the gods, then so could she. Sansa gently brushed Maiden's mane and tail out with her fingers and then checked her hooves, not really knowing what to look for.

When she felt she had sufficiently cared for the horse, she turned to study what Sandor was doing. He had made what looked like a large pile of leaves, and Sansa was dreading to see how it was to shelter them. She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and gasped, making Sandor turn to her with his hand on his sword.

"What? What is it?" he asked, hurrying to her in a protective stance.

"My hair! It's…burnt." she said miserably, pulling a mass of burned tendrils off of her head. Sandor looked at her with what she thought was pity, and he sighed, pulling out his dagger—the one he had held to her throat two nights before.

"Come, I'll trim it for you. It will make you less recognizable," he said as means to comfort her. She stood before him with her back to him and he began to gently slice through her gorgeous red locks. As she felt the weight coming off her head, she began to cry. Before she came to King's Landing—what felt like a hundred years ago—her mother used to brush her hair daily, telling her how it was like spun gold reflecting fire. Now, all those beautiful locks were being shorn from her head.

"It's nothing fancy, but it'll do." Sandor said awkwardly. Sansa reached up to run her hands over the new cut, and found that her once-long locks now ended by her chin. She could no longer smell the burnt hair, and was thankful for that, but found the thought of no longer having long, shinning hair rather disheartening. She let a sob escape as Sandor handed her the clippings of her hair.

"It's just hair, girl. It'll grow back," he said, not unkindly. He let his hands rest on her shoulders as he looked down into her teary blue eyes and he bent to meet her height.

"Thank you," Sansa whispered, dropping her head.

"It's just a haircut, little bird, and not a bad one at that."

"No. For rescuing me." she said softly. One moment they were at arms' length, and the next Sansa had crushed herself against Sandor's chest, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He was so broad, and muscled like a bull, that she could barely touch her fingers together. Sandor inhaled sharply, as though he'd been injured, but after a few moments he wrapped his arms around Sansa.

"Come little bird, the rain will start soon." he muttered against the top of her head. For a moment, Sansa felt his lips linger on her newly shortened hair, then his entire body was gone. As Sandor set about finishing their pile of leaves, which he called a debris shelter, Sansa managed to pull the saddle blankets over the saddles so they wouldn't get wet.

"How does this work…exactly?" Sansa asked, looking at their debris shelter.

"We crawl inside and we sleep. It'll be a bit tight, but we'll stay dry and warm enough not to need a fire. Once we have slept, I can do some hunting, but for now let's get some rest." Sandor crawled in first, then Sansa managed to climb inside after him. There was hardly enough room for both of them, but as the rain started, Sansa was amazed to find that there were no leaks.

"Get some sleep, little bird." Sandor said tiredly, his eyes already closed. Sansa looked at him hesitantly, but scooted closer to him and laid her head on his chest. Sandor looked down, surprised, but tucked her into the crook of his arm and held her tightly.

"Goodnight, Sandor." she whispered to him.

He grunted in response.